Lucky strike
by neverhappy10
Summary: Chloe hires Beca to DJ at her 21st birthday party. Stuff happens. BeChloe straight up. So AU it's not even funny.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello..um, what are bechloe fans called? Anyways, this idea came to me at like 2am in the morning and has been clawing at me for the past few days. Soooo I gave in and wrote it, as you would do when you're on holiday (which I'm not, but anyways). If you guys like it then hit me up with a review and I'll bake you chocolate chip cookies.**

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"Chloe Beale." Jesse Swanson (aka the worst manager ever in the history of the universe) announces grinning stupidly like he's just managed to steal the Declaration of Independence with Nicholas Cage or something.

"Chloe Beale?" Beca Mitchell, his first (and only. God knows, Beca enjoys his company, weird family games and borderline obsession with movie soundtracks but the boy's managerial skills were terrible) client and coincidentally also his half sister cocks a brow, looking up from her computer screen with a signature smirk on her face. The last time he was this excited was when his last OTP (whatever that meant) finally got together on Grey's Anatomy.

"Yep. The one and only."

"THE Chloe Beale? You mean the heiress to the Beale empire, blue-eyed, redheaded party animal, international sex goddess extraordinaire Chloe Beale?" Fat Amy - aka Fat Patricia aka The Crocodile Huntress no relation to Steve Irwin aka The Rebel aka Beca's current roommate - asks, poking her head inside the room. "I met her once. She had these clear blue eyes which were more magnificent than the ocean, bright flaming red hair which was probably dyed because there's no way Chloe's a soul-less ginger, and she had legs that went on for miles..." The blonde recounts dreamily, "turned out I was just dreaming about this one fanfiction I read. It felt pretty real though. Not that I'm gay, I don't think, but it's Chloe Beale, so..."

Beca and Jesse turn look at each other, then at Amy, mouth half open like a couple of fishes, trying to find a response to that. Both failing spectacularly.

"Yeah," Fat Amy continues, "I have a really overactive imagination sometimes. It's like a gift wrapped in a blessing." She shrugs. "But enough about me guys, what's going on with Chlo Be?"

Jesse immediately turns back to his half sister/only client, "Well she's turning 21 in like 6 weeks or something. So obviously she's having this huge bash and thanks to my awesome connections and managing," Jesse grins, crossing his arms proudly. "And I got you the DJ-ing gig there. You and I are gonna be leaving next week for Vegas."

"Ohh, and be bossed around and bitched at by some spoiled brat, daddy's girl who throws a tantrum everytime she doesn't get what she wants? Oh yeah, definitely. Who wouldn't want that, right? Thanks, but no thanks, Jesse. I actually want to keep my fucking dignity and not cater to the Paris Hiltons of society for the rest of my career," Beca snaps back almost instantly, taking off her earphones and practically slamming her laptop shut.

There was this edge in her voice that neither her friend nor brother had ever heard. Like he had actually insulted her with the notion of spinning for this girl. It left them both stunned speechless.

"Well, I gotta go. I'll see you later," Amy finally breaks the silence, only to leave the room and sudden tension there. If there's one thing she's learned from hours of watching American soap operas to prepare herself for culture shock, it's don't get involved in this kind of drama.

"Beca," Jesse starts slowly, "I don't wanna be the bad guy here but we kind of need this gig. Local gigs only pay so much, plus there's the factor of getting your name out there..I mean I'm trying my best but as fantastic a manager I am, I can only do so much."

"Right, by local gigs you mean a freakin junior prom. I don't care how many favors you owed the principal, who I totally saw you checking out by the way. She's like a million years old, dude," Beca scrunches up her nose at the memory. She did not want a repeat of the last so-called 'gig'.

Making it in this cut-throat business isn't easy, she knows that better than anyone. You have to work your way up from the bottom of the food chain if you want to make it to the top and stay there. But dear God, if she has to stand there and try to work while being pestered by horny boys that want to touch her boobs and mess with her equipment all night again...

"What?" Jesse places a hand on his chest, dramatically feigning hurt. "You always said you never got to go to your Prom…plus you made all those boys' dreams come true when you walked in wearing that-"

"One more word, Swanson," she glares up at him, (half) playfully punching his arm, "One more word."  
Jesse laughs lightly and puts both his hands up in defeat.

"Seriously, I'm sorry I snapped at you like that. This mix I'm doing is just not clicking for some reason, but I meant it when I said I'm not gonna do this gig."

"Beca," he says seriously, placing his hands on either side of her shoulders, "Why not? It's fifty thousand dollars, and her people said to my people that we won't even have to pay for our expenses. So it'll pretty much be like a holiday."

The brunette sighs, brushing her fingers through her hair slowly, a sign that meant she's thinking, "First of all, you don't have any people. Secondly, I won't do it because..." she pauses, "Because of reasons, and you work for me, so you have to do what I say."

Then it's the boy's turn to let out a sigh, seemingly letting it go when he nods his head in defeat and leaves her in peace soon after. To be perfectly honest, Beca's a little surprised he doesn't push further, but thanks the forces at play that he does anyway.

But then, of course, he actually doesn't let it go and pesters her every single second of every single minute of every single day for the next week. So much so that even her dad (who's been surprisingly supportive of her decision to drop out of college and get into the music business, possibly too busy with the step-monster to care) has been asking questions as to why she's turning down gigs, and apparently one of her dad's friends knows Chloe's father's business associate and acts as if this is a chance for her to make friends with the redhead or something.

So at around 2am in the morning when she's way too tired to think properly about how she'll be selling herself out or her frustration about this new mix or who would really care about dignity when she could be rolling around in wads of cash anyway, Beca fishes out her phone from the bottom of her bag and texts Jesse one single word: 'fine'

She falls asleep that night convincing herself it's because of Jesse's annoying and relentless pushing, absolutely and certainly not because she's more than curious to see Chloe Beale.


	2. Chapter 2

It's a couple of weeks later and here she is, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights, not because this venue is ridiculously big and beautiful even without any sort of decoration. Not because everyone else in the room is wearing expensive designer clothing (Jesse's even gone and splurged on an Armani suit because "_you gotta spend money to make money_") while she's in faded jeans and a hoodie, but because she's standing about 5 feet away from Chloe Beale. Even Beca's seen enough magazine covers to know she is pretty in designer clothing and French makeup, but here, seeing her in just jeans and a red top.

But the sight of the girl in person makes her heart stop for a few moments.

She tries not to stare like a creeper while the redhead works her way around the room, talking to her staff one by one or in small groups. Chloe sure doesn't look like a clueless party girl, she looks like someone who knows exactly what she wants. There's something about the aura of complete confidence she effortlessly exudes that Beca finds...unnervingly_ sexy_.

"And who might this be?" Chloe drawls out when she finds her way to Beca, a Chesire grin on her face as she eyes up the brunette. "Wow, you are cute. Good job Stacie." The last part is addressed to the tall, dark-haired woman she hired to be her party planner, whose face lights up like a Christmas tree at the compliment.

Beca doesn't even try to hide her indignation at first, but when the redhead smiles at her like that, she can't help but be drawn in by those piercing blue eyes. Fat Amy was right, they really were more beautiful than the ocean. It's like she's not even real, like she's been perfectly sculpted at the hands of an artist. Beca can't help it if her eyes travel down the length of Chloe's body. She can practically FEEL her own pupils dilating by the second.

Yeah, _okay_, so Chloe Beale really is probably hotter than the surface of the freakin Sun, but that doesn't take away from the fact that she's a spoiled brat, born into money and probably has never had to work for anything in her life. Why should the rest of the world have to break their backs everyday while daddy's girl gets a new Mercedes or castle or whatever without having to lift a perfectly manicured finger?

With Beca too caught up in her despising of Chloe to answer, Jesse steps in quickly and introduces the both of them, offering up his hand for her to shake. Instead, he gets a handful of air as Chloe completely disregards him with a lazy wave and cold "Uh huh".

The redhead seems much more interested in the DJ. When Chloe leans forward and wickedly whispers "Oh, we're going to have a lot of fun with you, Beca" into her ear, she suddenly feels faint at the scent of her. It's Chanel, Beca notes, it's definitely Chanel. She doesn't usually like the smell of perfume (it's fake and generic) but there's just something about Chloe that she can't resist. Something about her that makes the hairs at the back of Beca's neck stand.

It's only when she steps back with a smirk does Beca snap out of the spell.

"Well, I'm here to work, so..." She mumbles quickly, looking everywhere but at Chloe.

The redhead doesn't say anything, instead just turns her attention back to the Stacie woman and they begin to discuss something about keeping the papparazzi and unwanted guests outside. Beca feels herself let out a sigh which she keeps telling herself is from relief.

The next few days fly by, with Jesse dragging her around the city to go to various tourist attractions and a few casinos here and there. He once even tried to get her to go shopping for a dress for the party. **Once**. The rest of her time Beca spends cooped up in her suite, working on her mixes. When there are meetings to discuss her contract and whatnot, it's always Jesse who goes. Beca apparently isn't obliged to be there unless she wants to and she decided that she doesn't.

Then finally, it's time.

She shows up at the venue in casual attire, despite all of Jesse's protests that this is the party of the year and the place to be seen at. She quickly sets up all her equipment at the DJ booth (which, okay, she has to admit is actually pretty sweet) and notices girls in couture dresses and boys in tailored suits coming in by the dozen. Handsome waiters in black vests were scattered all over the spacious room, each holding a tray full of glasses filled with what looks like champagne. Everyone looks as if they were models taken straight from the pages of high end fashion magazines and at least half of them also look under aged People barely took any notice of her, aside from some of the waiters politely offering her drinks. Just the way she likes it.

At 9 on the dot, while Beca's still engrossed in her laptop, paying full attention to the mix, everyone else seems to instantaneously stop what they were doing and turn their attention to the figure that's just arrived. All eyes land on the birthday girl, making her entrance.

When Beca notices and looks up, she almost doesn't see Chloe at first, but then finally she does, and her jaw drops to the floor. Her mouth goes absolutely dry.

_Devil in a red dress._

It's only around two hours (and her 6th glass of some type of expensive foreign alcohol she can't quite pronounce) into the party when Beca realizes this party is only another excuse for the country's most privileged to get shitfaced off expensive booze and have sex with each other in places where they think they can't be seen. They couldn't care less about the mixes she poured her heart and soul into. That and she really needs some fresh air right now. One can only handle so much obnoxious yelling to _'turn up the music, this is a freakin party_' for so long before one wants to kill oneself.

She cues up some Top 40 songs and heads outside where, of course, who should be there but the Devil herself, her back leaning against the wall, clutching a bottle of champagne in one hand and fiddling with her phone in another, looking rather bored for someone who has everything at her fingertips.

"I can't believe I'm saying this but shouldn't you be inside, partying it up with 200 of your closest friends or something? You only turn 21 once, right?"

Chloe's head snaps up and the corners of her mouth turn upward to create that familiar smirk once she recognizes the voice, "Shouldn't you be inside taking song requests and y'know, making sure the music isn't too loud that it disturbs the neighbors? I hired you, which technically means they're your clients too."

"In which universe would that even make sense?" Beca's retort is filled with her trademark snark.

"In this universe, the one where I TELL you that anyone who's a guest at my party are also your clients. You can check back with your manager James or whatever his name is, he's the one holding onto your contract if I'm remembering correctly."

When Beca raises a brow at that, Chloe lets out an airy laugh, "You don't think I picked up anything from 21 years of being my father's daughter?" she winks. "Come on, you can come a little closer, I won't bite. Unless of course..."

Beca, for her part, tries her damnest not to blush like a schoolgirl under her gaze. Successfully failing. Her feet carry her the few steps and then she's standing next to Chloe. They're both silent for a little while, eyes staring up at the sky, which poetically, doesn't have any stars tonight.

Chloe takes a swig from the bottle and giggles. Fucking giggles. "You know it's my birthday today," she states, shifting so that she's leaning her right arm on the wall, facing the brunette's side. Beca keeps her eyes trained on a spot straight ahead. She knows Chloe's staring intently at her again, she can feel the redhead's breath on her cheeks. She's trying not to burn under that gaze and focus on breathing properly. "And I only want one thing."

It's only a second later when she feels Chloe's fingers beneath her chin, turning her head sideways. Their faces are literally an inch away from each other now, and Chloe's pupils are wide and dark. Beca tries, oh how she desperately _tries_ not to let her eyes wander down to the redhead's lips, but she's fallen under that familiar spell again, and she can't get up. Her heart's hammering away in her rib cage so loudly that she's pretty sure Chloe can hear it.

"Beca." Something about the way Chloe pronounces her name, low and sultry, makes tingles run up her spine, her eyes flutter shut. She can sense the expensive champagne on the girl's breath, which should be a huge turn-off, but somehow it's just undeniably, irrevocably sexy. "Can I ask you something?"

There's a sarcastic remark on the tip of her tongue, but it seems Chloe's effectively reduced Beca's brain to jasdjasbd, so instead, she simply nods.

"What's the craziest thing you've ever done in bed?"

Beca suddenly feels like all the air's been sucked out of her lungs. She almost doesn't believe Chloe Beale has just asked her that, even with all the alcohol in her system. Fat Amy would flip her shit if she knew about this. And now Beca can't believe the first thing she thought of after being asked THAT by CHLOE BEALE is her roommate.

When she looks up, Chloe's staring at her with an intensity that sobers her up completely. Somehow, she gets a sudden burst of courage and smirks right back at the taller girl, "What's the craziest thing you've ever done in bed?"

The redhead looks surprised for maybe a millisecond before regaining her composure, quickly thinking up a reply.

"Chloe!" A shrill voice interrupts them. "There you are, come inside, the cake's waiting for you."

The voice, Beca finds out when she turns around, belongs to a blonde who looks vaguely familiar. She doesn't look too happy.

Chloe sighs, her eyes lingering on Beca a few seconds more than necessary before addressing the blonde. "Yep, just give me like five minutes, Aubrey."

Aubrey frowns. "Your dad's waiting, and the icing is melting."

"Fine, fine, let's go." Chloe scowls and follows the blonde inside.

But not before leaning forward and unceremoniously whispers into Beca's ear, "you'll see. I promise."


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm supposed to be doing homework, oops. Also, I have a tumblr, so asketh and you shall receiveth. Reviews make me so happy. Let's be fast friends?**

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The girl, Aubrey, as it turns out, is Chloe's best friend. Right now she's not sure if she should be thanking Aubrey or damning her to hell while Chloe's busy opening up all her exorbitant presents.

She doesn't get to finish deciding however, because one of the staff of the muscly looking variety comes up to her and tells her that her job's done for the night as they won't be requiring music for the rest of the night's festivities. Beca half wants to call out to Chloe, but decides against it. The birthday girl obviously looks like she's having the time of her life, surrounded by people who adored her, laughing at inside jokes and talking animatedly. Some are nothing more than close friends of Chloe's, judging by their interactions. But most of them, Beca notices, clearly want something more. It's in the flirtatious jokes, the lingering touches and she can't help but feel an unfamiliar pang in her chest when Chloe does nothing to stop it. On the contrary, in fact, the redhead seems to love it, revel in the attention, subtly goading them on.

Beca tears her eyes away and shifts her focus back to her equipment, trying to pack up as fast as possible. She's so done with this party. She's had a good night, and an extra fifty thousand dollars in the bank. Why ruin that?

When Beca gets back to L.A, aside from being relatively richer, her life resumes as normal. Only after Fat Amy's finished grilling her on every single detail of her trip, especially what it was like to meet Chloe Beale in person of course. Which was to be expected, but it didn't turn out to be as bad as she expected. Amy lost interest pretty quickly when it became obvious nothing scandalous happened in Vegas.

"I even had a ship name for you guys and everything. Then I was going to become tumblr famous for knowing you, and how I predicted everything from the very beginning. Ah well." Amy had said rather solemnly and Beca still has no idea what the hell the blonde was on about (the fuck's a ship name? Seriously, sometimes Jesse and Fat Amy would spring out these odd terms that only they understand)

But then what she doesn't count on, has never actually crossed her mind before, is that the rich aren't used to _not_ getting what they want. Well, that and the fact that the Beale family lives in L.A...

So really, she only has herself to blame when her phone rings a few mornings later and she naively picks up without thinking. Effectively bursting her comfortable bubble.

"Come to dinner with me." She would recognize that voice from literally anywhere. God, apparently she's being_ stalked_ by this billionaire heiress now.

Then a thought strikes her. Might as well have a little fun. "Who is this?" she asks with a hint of amusement.

"I know you remember me, Beca. You kind of pulled a Cinderella on me the other night, and on my birthday no less. Ouch. Good thing I still have Jesse's number. Rather interesting manager you got there."

"Nope, doesn't ring a bell. I don't really like wearing glass slippers either..." She's enjoying this way too much now.

"Do you know how many people would literally kill to go out with me?"

"I still don't have a clue who you even are, sooooo I guess not..."

"You're making me do this, huh?" A defeated sigh on the other end.

"Me? No, I'm not making you do anything, miss." At this point, she's just trying not to crack up.

"It's Chloe."

"Chloe? Which one? I mean I know lots of people named Chloe."

"Of course you do. It's Chloe Beale."

"Ohhhhhhhh," Beca drags out dramatically. "Yeah, right. Hi Chloe, what can I do you for?"

"Oh, you can do me for a lot of things." She swears she can hear smirking on the other end. "I'm sending a car to pick you up at 8. Just be ready."

"And what exactly makes you think I want to have dinner with you?" The brunette challenges.

"Because I made you a promise, and I have every intention of keeping it. I'll see you then."

And, well, Beca's sort of thankful for Chloe hanging up right then, because for the first time in her life, she's left utterly speechless.

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**7:59 pm.**

That's what the numbers on her digital clock say. The green digits almost look as if they're glaring at her, taunting her.

Here she finds herself, alternating between staring at her phone and at her clock.

It's so stupid, she thinks. She's acting like a teenager with a crush right before a first date. Which is half true.

She IS a teenager. Even if it is only for another year.

This however, is definitely _not_ a date. Beca doesn't dress up, uses no perfume, only the bare minimum of makeup. Not a date.

The seconds can't tick any faster and yet time can't seem to pass any slower. Explain that one, Einstein.

Maybe she forgot.

Maybe she had something important come up and literally could not get out of it.

What if she, like, got abducted by a group of aliens on her way here?

Seems totally legit.

Then a sudden buzz snaps her out of her reverie.

Beca all but runs (ok fine, so she jogs a little) to the door, yelling out a high pitched "_I got it_" loud enough for her roommate to hear. Thankfully, one of the blonde's boyfriends is in there, and Beca's had enough experience being her roommate to know how loud it can get in that bedroom.

When she opens the door, a man dressed in full chauffeur uniform greets her politely and says that Chloe's sorry she can't pick Beca up herself but they'll see each other soon (she even has people apologizing for her!) before leading her outside where a sleek black Mercedes awaits.

Within 15 minutes, the car comes to a stop.

She recognizes the restaurant as one of the most exclusive and expensive in the city. Her dad had brought her here once to celebrate a promotion. To this day she still remembers the look on her dad's face when the check came.

When she steps inside, she notices that it is also very, very empty.

Except for one table, which is occupied with a blonde...completely emerged in reading and scribbling down on sheets of paper, with nothing but a glass of champagne as companion.

For a second Beca wonders if maybe she's being Punk'd or this is some sort of hidden camera show, because there's no way Chloe Beale was actually..._working_.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," the redhead says with a hint of amusement, eyes still focused on the document in front of her.

Beca feels her cheeks get uncomfortably hot, "I wasn't staring."

At this, Chloe looks up at her, features forming a full smirk now. "Sure you weren't. Come sit down." She cocks her head to the side, beckoning the brunette before turning back to her papers and jotting down more notes.

Once again, as if Chloe were a brilliant flame and she's just a powerless moth, Beca complies before she can stop herself.

Sitting across from her, the brunette can see the taller girl's wearing a no less than stunning red dress that shimmers in the light, definitely tailor made.

It takes Beca's breath away.

"Why is this place empty?" She suddenly finds herself asking, eyes tearing away from Chloe's body.

"I like peace and quiet while I eat, y'know? My dad and the owner are golfing buddies, so he and I often come here when we want to avoid a horde of paps on our way out. Plus this place has the best lobster in the country."

"Good to know you're not trying to impress me by buying out a whole restaurant for the night."

"Why? Would I be succeeding?" The redhead gives her a glance that's a cross between flirtatious and amused, the pen in her hand halting.

Beca tries to hide her grin, but they both know better. "Not to sound rude or anything but what's up with all these documents you got here?"

Chloe's tone shifts, "Oh, yeah, I'm sorry about all this. Business never sleeps."

"Business?" the brunette's eyebrows shoot up.

"Yeah," she chuckles, "did you think I just sat around and partied all day?"

"No, I guess not," Beca replies sheepishly. "It's just..." - _you also seduce people who you hire to DJ at your parties at night as well_ - "I didn't peg you down as the business tycoon type."

Just then, Chloe's phone goes off on the table, lighting up obnoxiously bright to indicate an incoming call.

"I'm sorry, I gotta take this."

Beca shrugs, slightly pissed off that they keep getting interrupted like this. But hell if she's ever going to show it.

As if there weren't enough surprises already, when she picks up, Chloe starts speaking in perfect French.

There is nothing quite like the sight of Chloe Beale in red and speaking the sexiest language in the world. It's mesmerizing.

When the call's finished, she leans across the table until their faces were inches apart. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Beca Mitchell."

All five of her senses go into overdrive at the proximity. Suddenly all she can see is 50 shades of blue, all she can smell is that familiar scent of Chanel, all she can hear is that edge of challenge in Chloe's voice, all she can feel is her heartbeat pounding in her ears. But more than anything else, she wants to **_taste_**.

It takes barely another second (one too long) for their lips to collide together like two cars that were always destined to crash.

It's too much and not enough at the same time, which isn't even possible but somehow just is.

The redhead's fingers brush her jawline and she feels Chloe's heartbeat pound into her chest. She tastes like pent up desire and expensive champagne. Beca's already addicted.

When they break apart, she feels hazy, her heart is ready to burst out of her ribcage.

"Want to g-"

Beca nods instantly, needing to feel Chloe's lips against hers again. And again, and again and _again_.

The drive back to Chloe's is filled with electric anticipation. She curses at herself for letting her driver take the rest of the night off.

It is the night before Christmas, the first day of school and the moments before a first date all rolled into one.

Neither of them say a single word.

They've both slept with someone before, but not tonight. Tonight, there would be no sleep.

Beca's practically writing in her seat, blood boiling in her veins.

Then the car finally comes to a stop.

She's barely gotten her seat belt off when Chloe pounces, kissing her like her life depended on it.

Maybe it did.


	4. Chapter 4

**French is a personal like, kink of mine. I just discovered that having one character know a foreign language is PERFECT for in plain sight confessions. I love the language sfm (even tho I don't speak it :sosad:) **** If anyone knows french and reads this...ummm, I'm so sorry for butchering your language. If you want the translation to the phrases then you're gonna have to find out yourself. It's more fun that way, like how Beca's kept in the dark too ;)**

**My tumblr is_ sendrickstagram_ if you want to send anon hate or something.**

**Also you should all go and wish Brittany Snow a happy bday if you haven't already.**

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When Beca's eyes flutter open (at God knows what time), Chloe is still sleeping next to her. A smile creeps its way onto her face. The older girl is undeniably sexy and breathtakingly dazzling in couture and under the bright lights. Painstakingly gorgeous and absolutely sensational in bed. Yes, utterly and definitely so.

She'd thought she's seen every shade of Chloe, until right now. With all her layers stripped away (quite literally), chest rising and falling rhythmically with every breath she takes, a perfectly content look on her face, Beca has seen nothing more beautiful. She feels her heart fissure at the sight. A thin but powerful geyser of emotion spilling from that infinitesimal crack, a spontaneous burst that relieves and frightens her both at once. It's then that Beca realizes. She's never slept with anyone before. Sex, yes, but she's never slept over before. Chloe's her_ first_.

"I can feel you staring at me, you know. It's creepy," the redhead suddenly murmurs with eyes still shut, startling Beca just a little.

"Was not," she replies, indignant.

"It's okay, I know I'm hot." A full-on grin appears on the redhead's face now, and the brunette would've wacked her with a pillow if she weren't so damn busy grinning back. It's annoyingly infectious.

"So what happens now?" Beca questions aloud suddenly.

Chloe opens her eyes at last. There is no glint of mischief or of seduction there, she is completely and utterly serious when she sweeps a stray strand of hair away from the brunette's face and says, "I don't want you to go."

It makes Beca's heart flutter. **_Uh oh_**.

It's too late, she suddenly realizes. She *gulp* likes Chloe. Likes her likes her. As in wants to see her smile, wants to be around her, wants to be with her.

Jesus, she has a stupid teenage crush. It's so stupid. She's Beca Mitchell. Snarky, witty, cooler than the flip side of a pillow, brilliant DJ (even if she does say so herself) who gives zero fucks. She's not supposed to have stupid crushes. Those are dumb.

She could have voiced her thoughts, but then Chloe gives her that look and all she can say is, "Okay."

_Uh oh_, indeed.

"So how did you become fluent in french?" Beca queried, barely conscious of the fact that she's drawing random shapes onto Chloe's stomach (God help us all, she's becoming a walking cliche)

Chloe shrugs, "My dad and I used to summer in Paris back when I was in high school. I picked it up."

"You know I don't get how celebs just pick up languages and accents when they go to a country, but only if it's a cool one. How come nobody every comes back from like Ireland or something and pick up that accent?"

"Because we are fabulous, obviously."

"Hmmm..." Beca tapped her chin with her forefinger, mocking suspicion.

"Tu me plais bien."

"What?"

Chloe shakes her head, smirking mysteriously. "Tu es un bon coup," she states, looking particularly pleased with herself.

Beca narrows her eyes in suspicion. "I don't know what that means, but I'm sure it's not good."

"Oh, it's good. Guess you'll just have to trust me, _ma cherie._" The redhead winks. Has the audacity to actually** wink** at her.

They both go quiet after that, the silence a comfortable one, just enjoying each other's company. There's nothing to be said.

Until a phone starts vibrating on the bedside table. It's Beca's, who has every intention of pressing the "ignore" button immediately until she sees it's Jesse calling...for the 10th time after 9 missed calls and at least 15 messages.

That's not all, there are also numerous missed calls and texts from her father and Fat Amy.

What the fuck is going on.

So she shoots Chloe an apologetic look and answers the phone.

"What's up, Jesse?"

"I'd ask where you are right now since it's like noon and you didn't come home last night but I guess I don't have to."

She's in no mood for any of Jesse's wise-ass digs right now. "Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?" She asks, irritated.

"Chloe" - and he doesn't have to say her last name - "Your face is on like every tabloid cover and probably all over the internet. You left with her last night didn't you? Someone took a couple of pictures of you two...um, kissing."

Beca feels a rush of horror wash over her like a bucket of ice cold water, instantly turning back to the redhead who seems completely oblivious, mouthing 'what's up?'

"Check your phone," she tells Chloe urgently. "Do it now."

The older girl looks slightly confused, but does it anyway, and Beca watches as her face contorts with realization. Funny, she doesn't seem to be nearly half as horrified. Maybe even a little amused at whatever was on her phone screen. How could she be so fucking cavalier? This is bad fucking news. She doesn't even think about the possible ramifications this could have on her budding DJ-ing career. Oh God, now they'd probably all think she's whoring herself out to climb the corporate ladder or whatever. Fucking damn it. She swore to herself she wouldn't become that girl, that she'd work her way up the right way. No scandals. Just music. And now here she was, not even a month after a big gig and she's sleeping with the client.

"Becs, you still there?" Jesse's worried voice startles her.

"Yeah, um, I'll see you in 10."

She presses 'end call' distractedly before he could get another word in. As if she were being chased, Beca gets up off the bed like it's on fire and quickly gathers her clothes scattered on the bedroom floor.

"I have to go."

"It's not that big a deal, y'know? My dad could-" Chloe says, sitting up off the bed. For her, being a target of photographers started the second she was born to a billionaire father and supermodel mother during their short marriage.

She just doesn't get it. Of course not, she's had everything handed to her on a silver fucking platter.

"You dad could what, Chloe? Buy off the photographer and erase your face out of every magazine cover in the country? Well not all of us have billionaire fathers to lean up our messes," Beca snaps back. She doesn't know what's gotten into her, but all of a sudden she's angry. Angry at Chloe. Angry at herself for letting this shit happen. Angry at that goddamn paparazzi guy for taking pictures probably from behind a tree and selling them off to tabloids. Angry at Jesse for not stopping this, but of course, since he's an idiot, he'll probably think this is a good thing. Becoming famous by association or whatever.

"You think I'm a mess you have to clean up?" The hurt in her voice evident, but if Beca notices, she doesn't show it.

"You know what, I can't deal with this right now," Beca says, putting on the last of her clothes and marching out the door without so much as a glance back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Before you read this, think about your first real love. This was not at all what I had originally planned, but all things considering...I think I like it. Reviews make me incredibly happy and write faster. **

* * *

_Her name is Chloe. More than that, her last name is Beale. Individually, those 5 letters are meaningless, worthless, but put them together, and in that specific order, it is Chloe's personal cheatcode to life. It is a password through every door, it is a yes to every single request she's ever had. Genetically, she's the perfect combination of her supermodel mother's beauty and her self-made billionaire father's brains. Her mother left when she was little for an oil tycoon in Texas somewhere, but Chloe's never minded. Her father was a better dad than most and she couldn't have asked for anything more from him._

_Affection and adoration came to her in spades, so effortlessly you'd think she'd cast a spell on everyone she's met. Ever since high school, everyone had wanted to be her knight in shining armor convinced the only reason a girl like that was single was because she's keeping her heart locked away, waiting for someone to come and sweep her off her feet. Every single one of them wanted to be that person, guy or girl. The one she falls in love with for the first time. The one who casts the stone from her heart and shows her all the delights of the thing people call love. Yet at the end of the night you're always left with nothing more than a polite, practiced rejection. If you're lucky (or especially unlucky) you'll wake up to a cold bed and the scent of her lingering in the air, leaving you wondering what could have been. She is the kind of girl you'd give anything to see smile, the kind of girl you walk a thousand miles for. The kind of girl you can't help but fall in love with, no matter the consequences. By the time you realize she was never yours to begin with, she'll be halfway into another fool's heart._

_It becomes something of a game to her. To see how long it takes for them to fall at her feet, how much they're willing to do to win her over. It's twisted, she knows, but she just can't seem to help herself, it's just too easy. It wasn't always like that, of course. At first, Chloe had truly tried to force herself to like everyone that vied for her affections, and she even thought she had real feelings for a couple of them. But then, just as quickly as those feelings came, they evaporated into thin air. Again and again, until she's not sure if it's all just a figment of her imagination. _

_Her heart isn't made out of stone or metal or ice, contrary to what some might think, but it doesn't beat for just anyone._

_And then she met Beca Mitchell._

_The first time Chloe saw her, she had a scowl on her face. It surprised her to the point where she almost felt like laughing. Jealousy, she was used to, but Beca wasn't jealous. She seemed...well, angry for some reason. She was beautiful, but not incredibly so, not in the way one would notice straightaway, not in a way that looked painted on and jagged._

_It started as another game, just teasing her a little for fun, because why not. She never **actually** intended on it becoming anything more._

_The night of the party, she could feel herself getting more excited than usual. Beca, the DJ was going to be there. To say that she wasn't slightly disappointed that the brunette never showed up for any of the meetings would be a lie (because Beca amused her, somehow)._

_When she arrived, she could feel every pair of eyes on her, as they should be. It was a ten thousand dollar dress after all. But for some reason, her eyes drifted to the DJ booth first and her smirk gets a little wider because Beca looks absolutely gobsmacked, staring at her unabashedly like she can't tear her eyes away._

_She got a little more irritated than usual when Aubrey interrupted them that night. Inside, her blonde best friend would frown and ask what she's doing with that girl and her ear monstrosities (that made Chloe laugh). At the end of the night, when everyone had gone and she didn't see the brunette anywhere, Chloe was left with a pang of disappointment._

_The next few days, she had this inexplicable urge to see Beca again._

_It's rather entertaining in a new and exciting way, having to be the one to call, being the one who chased. She got a giddy rush when Beca said yes to dinner. A novel feeling. She decided that she liked it._

_It's all fun and games, all well and good right up to the moment Beca kissed her._

_For the first time, her heart felt like it was going to **burst** out of her chest._

_It was a beginning._

_It was the moment Chloe started to fall._

* * *

It is seconds, minutes, hours, whole eternities later and you can feel her in every stitch of her skin, taste her in every tally of your tongue and feel her tingling in the train tracks of your thoughts.

You lie awake even after you're sure Beca's fallen into a deep sleep, your arms wrapped around her. You look outside your window, and the stars are out tonight. The view is beautiful (as it should be, you paid an ungodly amount of money for this place) but it is nothing compared to the sight of Beca next to you. You've been with other people before, in this same bed, and you always end up sitting next to that window, wondering why you're much more interested in what's out there than the person in your bed, why you'd always spend your nights sleepless. Then you turn to look at the sleeping face next to you, at the contented smile on her soft lips, her mischievous alluring eyes finally closed. You find yourself getting sleepier by the second, eyes closing and you falling asleep. You've never slept with anyone else before. And even as you sleep, you know. '_This one, I must keep.'_

When Beca leaves the next morning like she can't get out of there fast enough, you feel like someone just took a blade and stabbed it through your chest.

It is the very first time in your life that you have ever been rejected.

It_ hurts._

3 weeks later, after yet another car accident involving Amanda Bynes, a Justin Bieber meltdown and something happening with the Kardashians, as well as new information suggesting the photos of Chloe Beale and her mysterious brunette had been doctored, the name Beca Mitchell has long been forgotten. Aubrey seems terribly confused as to why you aren't forgetting her like the rest of the world. Your father senses something is up, but he is a busy man with a whole empire to run and more important things to worry about than his teenage daughter's love life. Everyone else leaves you alone for the most part. They don't ask, and you don't feel like talking.

As for you, you have no idea what to do. You have never had to deal with anything even remotely close to this. Nobody has ever made you feel like this.

Only three words come to mind when you think of Beca Mitchell.

_Tu me manques._

Only now do you truly understand what that meant.

It is not a simple "I miss you" like how you would sometimes miss your father when he left for business trips around the world.

It translates closer to something like "_you are missing from me_", like she has worked her way into your heart and you can no longer function without her.

It's new and confusing and it just plain sucks.

So after another 3 days, you decide that this can't go on any longer. You are Chloe Beale. You do not spend your days like this.

You're taken aback when a blonde answers the door instead of the brunette you were expecting. Beca has a roommate?

"Oh my God, you're Chloe Beale." The blonde, who speaks with a distinct Australian accent, has this look of utter disbelief on her face that you have no idea how to react.

"Um, hi, is, uh...Beca Mitchell there?" you asks lamely then instantly cringe internally. Your father would be sorely disappointed if he saw your conversational skills right now.

The blonde stares at you in awe for another 2 or so seconds before she comes back to reality. "Yeah, she's in her room. It's the one on the left."

You nods and smile, stepping inside the apartment. It isn't much. There's a decent sized living room and kitchen space with what looks to be all the necessities, but clearly no interior designer has ever set foot in here. You see there are only two door leading to two bedrooms, opposite one another.

"I'm Fat Amy, by the way. I'm Beca's roommate."

You're not sure if she wants you to shake her hand or what, so you just nod politely. "I'm Chloe."

"I know. I like, love you," Fat Amy gushes, and you feel slightly embarrassed, not sure how to reply.

"I'm just gonna..." You trail off awkwardly, gesturing to Beca's room.

"Oh right," And there goes the lightbulb. "Okay, well, I'll be in my room if you need me."

With that, she makes her way inside the room opposite Beca's, shutting the door behind her.

The brunette's door, surprisingly is only half closed. You knock a couple times but no answer, you can see Beca's sitting at a table beside her bed, fully emerged in her laptop, spinning dials and pushing levers on her DJ equipment. Headphones firmly over her ears.

"Beca." You try calling, but she doesn't seem to hear you.

"Beca," you say again, louder, and she almost falls out of her chair.

"Shit," she swears, spinning around and seeing you for the first time in almost a month. For a second, you're just so glad to see her, but then you see that she looks pissed off. "Are you stalking me? First the phone call, and now this?"

Huh, you've never thought of it that way.

"You know what, never mind. I forgot you're Chloe Beale. You can do whatever you want." There's that biting snark again, but you don't really care. "What do you want, Chloe?"

"I miss you," you blurt out, and this is going nothing like the way you expected, but at least you mean those words.

Her demeanor visibly softens. She leans back further on her chair.

She doesn't say anything, so you continue, "I don't even know, Beca." You're barely conscious to the fact that your arms are flailing about, trying to express something you don't even understand. "I like you, and I miss you."

You wish that you had prepared some speech about missing the way she says your name or the way she smirks or whatever, because that would've been a lot better. You always thought romance came hand in hand with eloquence. You yourself are no stranger to love poems, letters, songs and even sonnets. You never in a million years would've expected this mess of barely coherent sentences forming in your mind.

"I've never felt like this before," you tell her exasperatedly and you know it sounds so cheesy but it's just the truth. You start to panic a couple of seconds later because during your whole entire life, everyone has fallen in love with you but maybe there's a first to everything. Maybe Beca never will. You almost feel like crying at the thought.

"I can't." Is all that comes out of her mouth, not looking at you.

You take a few strides forward and grabs both of her hands in yours, effectively yanking her from her chair and up towards you. "Why not?"

Your bodies are literally an inch apart and you want to kiss her so badly. You want to kiss her long and hard and deep.

"Because your world-"

"I'll show you my world. It's not as bad as it seems, I swear. My dad's really nice and my friends are really nice, too. I mean they're rich and some are kind of spoiled but other than that it's not bad. I'll even teach you French if you want."

She chuckles at that, and it is the best sound in the whole world right now.

"We'll go slow if you want, I'll introduce you as my awesome DJ friend. Just please say yes," you murmur. You know full well you sound desperate and clingy and probably somewhat insane, but you just can't bring yourself to care.

She hasn't let go of your hand, so you figure that's a good sign.

It feels like an eternity later, when Beca gives the slightest of nods, that everything falls into its rightful place. "Okay."


	6. Chapter 6

**Come be my friendd over on tumblrrrrr. Let's be fast friendsss.**

**I'm not entirely happy with this chapter tbh, but it'll set up things nicely for next chapter. Reviews make me want to stay up til 1am (which coincidentally is right now, omggg?) to write instead of doing my uni essays and/or sleeping.**

* * *

They agree to take it slow, be friends for a bit, and Beca tells herself it's the best possible scenario for them right now. Truthfully, she's not even sure what she wants, all she knows is that she does not want Chloe to leave.

They're at the opening of an ultra exclusive, mega high-end club, which is apparently what Chloe does on a regular basis. Shopping in Europe, attending events with Hollywood's A-listers in the trendiest areas of the country, being at executive board meetings with her father. Whatever she wants, whenever she wants, however she wants it, whoever she wants it with. This is Chloe Beale's world.

On the one hand, Beca loves it. The wealthy sure know how to throw a party and have a good time. Even with her cynicism towards the rich, the brunette can't deny the fact that she's having fun.

On the other, this world is insane. The money, the luxury, the power, everything. Being Chloe Beale also meant that everyone wanted you, to be with you. Beca feels like the odd one out. The only thing that does not belong. What can she give to a girl who has everything?

But most importantly, Beca knows without a single hint of doubt that she is falling, and she's deadly afraid that Chloe won't be there to catch her. The thought alone sucks all the air out of her lungs and makes her want to run as fast as she possibly can. For now, though, the redhead is here, making her melt every time she looks at her, making her skin tingle deliciously every time they touch and driving her crazy with want every time she so much as says Beca's name.

Chloe's hand is warm around hers as the redhead leads her through the dark club straight to the VIP area. She notices the looks people give Chloe, and she can tell they all want her. She's known that before, obviously, one doesn't get the title of international sex symbol for nothing, but now she's seeing it first-hand. It makes her feel something dangerously close to jealousy, and something else even worse, but she pushes those thoughts down and focuses on the path ahead. As a DJ, she is, of course, no stranger to clubs, sweaty bodies and pulsing bass, but Beca's never been in a place this high-end, and certainly never to the VIP area, where the drinks are expensive, and the people are all beautiful. Seriously, they probably walked straight off of catwalks in Paris or Milan. Are the rich just naturally all hot?

"Guys, this is Beca," she announces, capturing the group's attention, pointing to the brunette. "She DJ-ed for my 21st, and she's awesome."

Beca feels a slight blush creeping up her neck, but thankful that it's dark enough there for it to go unnoticed.

They all introduce themselves and she barely remembers one or two names. There's Aubrey because the girl is a seriously famous model with a portfolio like no other (and same goes for her allegedly notorious attitude), Chloe's best friend apparently and a guy named Luke because he has a clean cut British accent that probably makes all the girls he meets swoons. The first thing he says to her is whether or not she's worked with David Guetta, and if she hasn't, he could introduce the two. Beca takes an instant liking to him.

Conversation actually flows really easily, which is crazy because Beca half expected them to talk about their family holidays and their latest convertibles or yachts or something, but they don't. Luke is a producer for Ryan Seacrest's radio show, this girl called Cynthia-Rose was a singer and producer herself so she finds it especially easy to talk to those two, but everyone else is pretty cool too. Surprisingly, there was not a single bored billionaire trust-fund baby in the group. For the first time, Beca feels like she just might be able to fit in after all. The notion makes her giddily excited.

The one thing she can't seem to not notice is the number of drinks that people keep sending Chloe's way, all undoubtedly hoping for a chance to score with the redhead. She doesn't know what bothers her more, the fact that Chloe doesn't seem to be sending "fuck off" signals to those people, as if this was just another ordinary day for her, or the fact that Beca's bothered by said fact. Either way, she doesn't like it one bit.

"Why me?" Beca finally asks when the nth person sends a drink to Chloe, giving her a flirtatious I-know-I'm-hot grin from the dance floor when she looks in his direction. The guy is attractive in every sense of the word, like he just walked out of an Abercrombie catalogue. "You could have any of these people, who are all sexy as hell. I mean seriously, I want to do them." She's honestly only half joking as she says the words. "So why me?"

Chloe shrugs next to her, undoubtedly feeling at least tipsy by now. "I don't know, why does anything happen to anyone?"

"Never pegged you for a philosophical type," she replies jokingly, but she'd be lying if she wasn't slightly disappointed at the redhead's 'answer'.

"You know what." The taller girl places her drink down onto the glass table with a definitive clink and leans toward her, making Beca's heart rate pick up instantly. She glances around. Most have left the VIP room, probably dancing somewhere, and the couple of people that are left are preoccupied with their phones or whatever. Nobody's paying attention to them. Which is definitely a good thing because next thing she knows, Chloe's placing open-mouthed kisses on her neck. Yeah they're trying the taking it slow thing and Beca knows she should be putting a stop to this but she can't seem to get the words out of her mouth at the moment, as her eyes roll into the back of her head. Her hands automatically find purchase on Chloe's shirt, like they want to pull her closer, and she has to try so hard to keep from turning her head and kissing the other girl. When the redhead's mouth moves up to her ear, a shiver runs down her spine.

"I don't care about them," Chloe whispers. "The way you look when you're spinning, your little smirks, the way you say my **_name_**. Everything about you drives me_** crazy**_" - Beca, honest to God, gulps - "I want you. I want you to bite your lip every time you think about me. I want you to think about whether I'm thinking about you. I want to _fuck. you. up._"

That taking it slow thing is looking pretty damn stupid right now.

_WHAT?_ She's 19. She has hormones.

Except the fucking devious redhead has retreated and is now smirking from behind her cocktail glass like she's so pleased with herself. "Does that answer your question, friend?"

Beca doesn't know if she wants to drag Chloe to the nearest dark corner and do...things (her alcohol-hazed mind hasn't decided exactly what yet, but she'll make damn sure that smirk is wiped off her beautiful fucking face) but she hasn't even gotten round to thinking up of an equally brilliant second option before the taller girl pulls her up off the seat and drags her down towards the insanely crowded dance floor.

She's immediately hit with the thumping beat and noisy music, the sweaty bodies and pure, unadulterated energy. The place is packed, and either it was too dark to see or everyone was too shit-faced to move out of the way, even for Chloe Beale.

There is barely any room to dance, which the redhead doesn't seem to mind, because as soon as the pair were lost among the crowd, she spins Beca around so they're back to front and begins kissing up her neck like she's addicted, hands digging into her hips.

"I want you, Beca," she breathes into her ear, creating tingles that run all the way down to the girl's toes. "Why are you fighting this?"

Before she has time to conjure up a response, they are rudely interrupted by male voices. Loud ones. Then Beca can briefly see someone throw a punch at someone else, knocking him to the ground, though it's definitely not anyone from Chloe's entourage.

Luke appears seemingly out of nowhere and starts leading them in a direction which she hopes is outside. "Let's get out of here."

In the midst of the ensuing chaos, someone pushes Beca particularly hard and it catches her off-guard completely. Fear flashes through her as she begins to slip toward the floor. Instantly, Chloe turns around and saves her before she hit the ground.

"Don't worry. I'll protect you." The ginger grabs her hand and leads her the rest of the way until they're finally greeted with fresh air.

Beca's heart beats fast in her chest. A rush of something courses through her veins.

_Who's going to protect me from you?_

* * *

The next morning Beca wakes up with a sense of Deja Vu and a minor headache. She's back here again, Chloe Beale's bedroom, go figure. When she looks down, she sees that all of her clothes from yesterday are still on her body, which is most definitely a good sign.

Chloe's sleeping soundly next to her, also not naked (although she is starting to feel herself getting creepier, enjoying watching someone sleep. Ew, she's not Edward Cullen). Beca's starting to think this is her lucky day.

She sits up and reaches for her phone placed neatly atop one of the bedside tables and sees that the time is 10am.

Not bad, all things considered. She does a quick Google of the previous night's incident and breathes a sigh of relief. Last night, after they left, the whole thing at the club was soon resolved by local police. No pictures were taken of a group of LA's elite including one Chloe Beale with the mysterious brunette back by her side.

"Morning." A groggy voice comes from the other side of the bed.

"Hi." Beca can't help but smile as she greets her. "Headache? Oui ou non?"

The redhead raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. "Nope. Us Beales don't get hangovers." She grins. "My mom used to party a lot and my dad's practically drilled into my head that he's gotten more deals over wine than a conference table. You?"

"I'm good, I didn't even drink that much."

Chloe looks pensive for a couple of moments. Something she has never seen before. The redhead has a natural air of confidence about her, always in control, an arrogance that's just enough to be charming and sexy. She suspects not many people have seen the girl as she's seeing her now.

"I'm going to Paris tomorrow for a week. Business trip." She looks up at Beca and bites her lip.

"Okay, well, that's actually great because-"

"That's the thing, I want you to come with me. I mean I know we're just friends or whatever but-"

"No," the brunette cuts her off, chuckling. "That's the thing. I have a gig tomorrow night anyway, so it's cool."

Chloe's gaze turn strange, like she's...annoyed, like she actually can't believe someone just turned down Paris with her.

But if she is, she doesn't say anything.


	7. Chapter 7

**If you guys wanna prompt me or something then you totally should spam my tumblr ask, I'll also have little anecdotes about my ~writing process~ on there. Now, before you read this chapter, I have one piece of advice. DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER. bleurgh.**

* * *

Life has been good to Beca the past couple of days. There are phone calls from studio heads coming more and more often, gigs starting to line up and clubs which are finally beginning to recognize her for the phenomenal talent that she is. If things keep going in this direction, pretty soon, she'll be able to move out and get her own apartment, which is most definitely a good thing, even if Fat Amy is a brilliant roommie and a half. Jesse no longer feels the need to bother her with movie marathons or movie-cations as he so dumbly refers to them because he's busy actually being a manager for once (turns out, the guy actually can be charming and somewhat professional when he wants to. Who knew)

She almost doesn't notice that fact that Chloe hasn't called, hasn't made any attempt to contact her for 3 days and 10 hours. Almost.

Tonight is an especially good night, Beca thinks to herself, as her eyes scan the crowd. There's something electric in the atmosphere as bodies dance in sync to the beat of her mixes, thoroughly enjoying themselves. The club she's spinning at is pretty popular, time to time celebrities even make an appearance there. That is not the case tonight, but it doesn't seem to deter anyone from having a good time. The air smells like sweat and alcohol, the people are high on adrenaline and drunk on the over-priced cocktails and each other. As one of the perks of being a DJ, Beca gets drinks on the house all night, and who's she to turn down the generous manager of the place?

It's about halfway through her second or third set, when she's just buzzed enough on her drink of choice not to give a fuck anymore, that's when she sees them.

There's a blonde and a redhead, sitting facing one another at the bar, in Beca's direct line of vision (so really, it's not her fault). It is a crowded area, everyone wanting everyone else's attention, but they only seem to have eyes for each other. They're young, verging on under aged possibly, but they look as if they're seasoned clubbers. Europeans, perhaps? Beca has no idea, she's shit with this stuff, but she knows one thing for sure.

They are not friends. Unless in Europe or wherever they're from, it's normal to sleep with your friends.

There are lingering touches and suggestive glances.

The blonde girl leans over and whispers something in the redhead's ear, prompting what looks to be a chuckle from the redhead, and Beca swears she sees her eyes flutter shut for a moment.

Not long after, they lead one another onto the dance floor.

The song changes to the next one in her set list a mash-up of Lady Gaga's latest club banger and Usher's new song. The beat is undoubtedly sexy and the lyrics are suggestive to say the least.

It drives everyone in the club even wilder, but Beca can't tear her eyes away from the two girls who are currently grinding like the world is ending amongst the crowd of swaying bodies.

She's seen people like this before, but there's something about the way they're moving together that Beca finds utterly captivating.

The taller blonde has her hands on either side of the redhead's hips, nails digging into her skin. She is feverishly kissing the shorter girl's neck like she needs it to breathe. The music and the bass are almost deafening, but Beca thinks she hears a guttural moan rip from the redhead's lips, whose head is thrown back carelessly, eyes tightly shut and hands snaking around the back of the blonde's neck.

Beca feels her breath quicken and her palms getting sweaty when the blonde's hand trails down and sneaks under the redhead's skirt.

The blonde's hand moves down from her hips and oh Beca knows she should avert her gaze because this is getting really fucking creepy now, but her eyes are glued to the pair as she feels something pull at her gut. Her mouth suddenly goes dry.

She's almost thankful when the tall blonde whispers something into the redhead's ear and gets an earnest nod in response, resulting in them making a beeline for the exit.

It is dark, crowded and Beca's mind is feeling somewhat fuzzy at the moment so she can't be 100% positive, but she thinks she sees the blonde turn in her direction and gives her a wink right before she's out the door.

She can't seem to focus on anything for the rest of the night.

It is around 4am when Beca stumbles home and throws herself onto her bed with her shirt and underwear on, only bothering to get out of her skinny jeans and Chucks.

She is (a lot) more drunk than usual after a gig, but she couldn't care less at this point, as she messily fumbles for her phone and scrolls through her contacts list, before finally pressing the dial button.

"Hello, Chloe."

"Beca," Chloe says on the other end, the surprise evident in her voice. "Hi."

"Where are you? Why aren't you here with me?" It's meant to be a half jokey question but comes out more like a whine than anything else. "I wish you were here."

"Are you drunk?" Chloe chuckles. "I'm in my hotel room, and I'll be back next week. Why, miss me already?" She teases.

"Yes," Beca breathes out instantly. "I miss you."

The other end goes dead silent after that, but she can hear Chloe's breath hitch, so she continues. "I want to kiss you so bad," she says softly.

"Beca..."

"**God**, I just want to kiss you."

There's a slight pause. "I want to kiss you more," she whispers finally.

Beca shakes her head. "Not possible."

"If I were there, or you were here, I'd kiss your neck."

"And then what?" The brunette asks, trailing her hand to her thigh and back up her stomach, imagining it was Chloe's hands on her body.

"Then I would move down to your collarbone and your shoulders."

She closes her eyes tightly, arching a little off the bed. "What would you do to me, Chloe?"

The girl on the other end lowers her voice. "I will make you scream my name so many times that you'll forget your own."

Beca gasps a little, clutching the phone to her ear so tightly she thinks it might break any moment. "Jesus. You're so fucking..."

"I need you here, Beca. With me. I can't wait another week. Do you understand? I _**need. you. here.**_"

* * *

The next morning, when Beca sees a first class ticket leaving for Paris placed neatly in her mailbox, she calls Jesse and demands him to cancel all her gigs for the next 7 days.

Fuck this friends thing.


	8. Chapter 8

**This took me FOREVER to write. It's now 2am? I have a question for you all on my tumblr after you read this and I NEED you guys to answer.**

* * *

It is a room made for champagne and caviar, in a hotel specifically catering to exorbitantly wealthy guests who have more money than they know what to do with. It is Chloe's element through and through.

There are freshly picked strawberries with heavenly melted chocolate. There is a spacious jacuzzi that you could spend a whole day in. There is more than one bottle of the world's priciest champagne, kept chilled in ice buckets. There is a large flat screen on the wall with more channels than you can think of. The whole place screams money and decadence at the highest level. Beneath them, the city shines brighter than the stars above, a kaleidoscope of light. There is something in the air in this city, reserved especially for lovers, Beca, even with all her cynicism, can feel it.

But all that is nothing compared to the view. There are 26 letters in the English alphabet, yet no combination of them could even come close to describing the look in Chloe's eyes as she stares straight at Beca from across the room.

She looks at her as if she wants to believe every single love story ever written.

Oh, and the Parisian skyline isn't too bad either.

Beca feels the urge to run creeping into the back of her mind again. But instead, she finds herself taking a few large strides towards the redhead and pulls her in for a deep, long, languid kiss.

Her tongue tastes like desire and something else which Beca can never get enough of. She's missed this. **God**, she's missed this more than anything, she feels like an alcoholic getting a taste of Jack Daniels after months of withdrawal. The girl's lips are impossibly soft and she moans almost recklessly as an arm slides around her neck while another makes its way under her shirt. Chloe's hands are warm and she wants to feel them all over.

They are both a little breathless when they part, foreheads still pressed together.

"Hi," Chloe murmurs with her eyes still closed, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards to form a smile. "I missed you."

Beca has to try so hard to keep the shit eating grin off her face when she replies, "I missed you more."

The Beca Mitchell from a few months ago would probably beat up the current Beca Mitchell just for saying something like that, let alone to Chloe Beale, but she finds herself simply not caring at the moment, because the taller girl's smile widens, and it's so, so worth it.

"I'm glad you drunk dialed me," the redhead says, finding both her hands and entwining their fingers together.

Beca chuckles lightly, "I'm glad you weren't in a business meeting or something and put me on speaker. That would've been something."

Chloe pulls back, frowning a little, and for a second the brunette panics, thinking she just said the wrong thing. "I never would have put you on speaker. I want you all to myself." - She takes a deep breath before continuing - "Which is why I don't want to be friends with you anymore. I think I'd go crazy."

"I-"

But Chloe cuts her off. "No, let me finish before you say anything...I think about you all the time, you know that? I think about the way you chew your pen when you're thinking, how you always bob your head along to the beat when you're mixing songs. I love how you never apologize for anything, not even when you leave my party to go have a smoke or whatever it was you were going to do before you saw me standing there. I secretly love your ear spikes even if they make Aubrey think you're the spawn of Satan" - They both laugh lightly at that, before the redhead turns serious again - "I'm just...I'm just hoping that maybe you would let go. Let go of the things you don't think I could do, let go of your preconceived inhibitions that I'm going to leave when I get bored. Let go of the nagging doubts you have that this will end up with me hurting you. Be mine for a while. I want the _**whole**_ of you. The short temper, the filthy tongue, the angry texts, the chewed up pens, the late night drunk calls."

She disentangles her right hand and brings it up to the shorter girl's face, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her eyes. "Let me be the person to take your breath away?"

If it were scientifically possible for one person to melt into a puddle of goo, then Beca's positive she would have done exactly that. She looks up into Chloe's eyes, searching for any sign of deceit, of amusement, of anything other than truth, and what she finds makes her feel like she's forgotten how to breathe.

Beca's far too in awe to speak, too lost in her eyes, too enraptured in her ever so hopeful smile to do anything but pull Chloe into an Earth-shattering kiss.

They are almost too caught up in one another to hear a phone ringing somewhere inside the room. It's annoyingly insistent until they have no choice but to break apart. The instant they do, Beca lets out a tiny whimper, already missing the other girl's warmth.

So she finds herself standing there, in the middle of one of the most expensive hotel suites in all of Paris, completely dazed from what just happened in the span of maybe less than 10 minutes.

God, she's become a mess.

"I'm so sorry, but I have to go," Chloe says apologetically, looking up from her phone screen. "I'll be back in a couple of hours, I think."

Beca must look like a child who just got her favorite toy snatched from her hands, because next thing she knows, the redhead's giving her a lingering kiss that makes her knees turn to jelly. "Wait for me?"

**_Always._**

* * *

It is about an hour and half later, and Beca is going insane. The suite seems too big for just her, and yes, it is luxurious and awesome, but it's spectacularly boring if you have nobody to share it with.

She's been through all of the channels on the flat screen which is an achievement in itself, even if she didn't pay attention to anything. She desperately wants to text Chloe but a) that would seem desperate and b) she did fine entertaining herself for the best of 19 years, surely she could manage a couple of hours alone now.

Then, all of a sudden, she hears knocking.

When Beca opens the door, she's surprised to find someone that's definitely not maid or room service standing there. Instead, it's an impeccably dressed 20 something guy with perfectly gelled hair, smiling politely at her, albeit a little surprised.

"Hi, I'm Donald. You're...Beca, right?"

"Uh, yeah?"

He extends his right hand and she shakes it hesitantly.

"Oh, sorry, I'm Chloe's stylist. Is she here? We have an appointment today, for right now actually."

Beca shakes her head. "Sorry dude, she's not here. She said she had a meeting that's re-scheduled for right now, so..."

"Ah, I see." He pauses for a moment, like he's contemplating whether what he wants to say next is appropriate or not. "She talks about you, you know. I mean, you must really be something. I've been her stylist for 5 years now and I've never seen her talk about anyone else like she does you."

She feels a slight blush creep up her neck, but also a little giddiness. She doesn't know how to respond.

"You know, I'm pretty much free all afternoon, and she DID give me her platinum card. If you want to then we can go pick out some stuff for you." Seeing her hesitance, Donald quickly adds, "You don't have to worry about me looking under your dress or anything. I'm pretty much gay, or so my boyfriend keeps telling me."

Beca bites her lip, thinking. Shopping isn't exactly at the top of her list of hobbies, but hey, she's in Paris with nothing to do except wait for Chloe to get back anyway, so why the hell not.

It's crazy, shopping with Donald. She's lost count of how many places they've been to, and Donald seems to be best friends with everyone who works at those shops, and he seems to know as much about clothes, shoes, hair and makeup as she does about beats, rhythms and lyrics. Which is a_** lot**_.

"So is this what you do everyday? Shopping for celebs and people like Chloe?" She asks from inside the dressing room of an especially well renowned store.

Donald chuckles, busy going through the racks of dresses outside. "Yeah. It's pretty awesome."

"Thanks for doing this, by the way. I mean I'm not your client, so..."

"Don't worry about it. Any friend of Chloe's is a friend of mine. Besides, I think we'll be seeing each other again soon enough."

"And why is that?" She questions with a smirk, walking out of the changing room in a dress that Donald insisted brings out her eyes.

He looks her up and down, seemingly pleased with this look, before settling at her eyes. "You're dating _Chloe Beale_, are you not?"

* * *

By the time they arrive back at the hotel, Chloe's still not there. Disappointment washes over her.

Donald must've sensed this, because he digs through the bags, takes out a dress and a pair or heels and thrusts them into her hands. "Wear these, and I can guarantee you she'll be eating out of the palm of your hand the second she sees you. Unless she doesn't rip it off you first."

She raises a brow, that certainly sounds...interesting.

When Beca's finished changing and looks in the bathroom mirror, she almost doesn't recognize herself. The dress fits like it was made for only her and nobody else. It falls off her shoulder, fits snugly at her waist and hits just at her knees. Even though Beca despises wearing dresses, even she can't deny that it looked good on her.

When she walks out, Donald's face visibly lights up, admiring his handiwork. "You know what, scratch the other thing I said. She's _**definitely**_ going to rip that off of you."

* * *

Donald leaves 10 minutes later, and not long after, Chloe comes strolling through the door. Her jaw dropping to the floor the moment she sees Beca, staring her up and down unabashedly.

"I met your stylist today," the brunette says simply.

"You look..." Chloe trails off, like she honestly cannot find the words. "I can't even..."

Beca grins, taking the few steps forward towards the other girl until their faces are millimeters apart. "I look what?"

The redhead stares at her lips, as if completely mesmerized by them. "You're making me want to rip off that gorgeous dress." It comes out a little breathlessly.

Beca's grin turns into a wicked smirk as she leans forward and whispers into her ear, "Let's go have dinner. I'm starving."

They barely make it inside the Beale family town car before they're pulling at each other's clothes, making out furiously.

Beca's hands are sliding under Chloe's shirt, finding purchase on her hips.

"You know," the taller girl breathes out as she trails kisses and nips down Beca's throat, warm breath sending shivers down her spine. "We can turn this car around right now and just order in."

"And let this dress go to waste?" Beca laughs, but it comes out more as a strangled gasp when Chloe sucks at her pulse point, hands wandering up her thighs. "Never."

"Do I turn you on?" Chloe asks, voice much, much lower than normal, nails lightly raking across her skin. "Because you turn me on, Beca Mitchell. So much. I don't think I'll be able to keep my hands off you tonight."

Just as fate would have it, the car stops outside a swanky restaurant before Beca can respond.

Inside, there are people waiting for tables but the maitre d' greets Chloe in French like they're long-time friends and before long, they're being lead to a secluded place in the corner of the room.

The menu is in French, so Beca has no idea what the hell she orders, but she's too distracted anyway. Chloe's just staring at her and it usually would make her uncomfortable, but something about the girl's gaze just makes her hot. Really, really, almost unbearably hot.

She looks hungry, but not for food.

This is going to be a long night.


	9. Chapter 9

**GUISE I HAVE A PHILOSOPHY MIDTERM TOMORROW (LE FUCK!) WISH ME LUCK. For serious, I need all the luck I can get. But after I finish I'll have time to work on next chapter so yay for dat.**

**Also, I noticed the other day that sinandmisery started following this story. I fangirled so hard. BUT ARE YOU LOST THOUGH? **

* * *

They eat their dinner and drink their wine mostly in silence. If anyone in that crowded Parisian restaurant had bothered to turn their attention to the two girls in the corner of the room, they may have noticed the hooded stares, the small gasps, the stifled moans that were definitely had nothing to do with the food.

Somewhere along the way, this has become a little game. Of lingering glances and subtle touches, pretty lips whispering dirty nothings, innocent hands committing every sin in the book. They were slowly driving each other insane.

When the waitress comes to take their dessert order, Chloe smirks, asking in English for the chocolate mousse. Emboldened by the alcohol and looking into Beca's lust filled eyes, the redhead's hand find its way between her legs.

"Did you know that chocolate is an aphrodisiac? I mean like a **really** strong one." Her voice comes out husky and suddenly this stops being a flirty little game.

The shorter girl gasps in surprise as fingers find the hem of her panties and strokes across the moisture hiding between the folds. The piano music in the background swells in almost perfect unison.

"Fuck..." Beca swears softly, hands gripping so desperately at the tablecloth that she thinks she might rip it.

"Shhh," Chloe whispers, finding her clit and beginning to rub lightly, expertly. The brunette's breath catches in her throat at the surge of pleasure that's coursing through her body. Her eyes quickly search around the room, taking in the dim room and candlelight. Everyone else was too busy with their meals to notice. The taller girl takes a casual sip of wine as she works Beca to the edge of orgasm before abruptly pulling her hand away like it's nothing. She whimpers, but says nothing, noticing their dessert's here and Chloe's wearing that devilish, cocky smirk.

Chloe doesn't eat so much as she watches as Beca savor every spoonful. After every swallow, she lets out a soft, tiny moan. She doesn't have to look up to sense the girl's hungry gaze boring into her.

It must be the aphrodisiac effects kicking in. Because there's no other explanation when she drops her spoon and pulls Chloe in by the collar, crashing their lips together. When they part, the redhead immediately begins an assault on her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses up and down her neck and nipping at her earlobe, hands gripping either sides of her hips. "God, I want you so bad right now."

All of a sudden the dress she's currently wearing feels too tight, too fucking suffocating, too much.

Chloe doesn't even look at the check when it arrives, carelessly tossing hundred Euro notes onto the table. She stands up, holding out her hand for Beca to take, which she does, before leading them both to the bathroom.

They don't say a word to each other, the anticipation fizzing in the air like volts of electricity between them. Once she's checked that there aren't any people in the room, she pulls Beca inside and pushes her up against the door, crushing their mouths together, knee sliding effortlessly between her legs. The brunette's hands instinctively weave into red hair, nails digging into her scalp.

Her tongue tastes like want that's been bottled up for too long. Hands begin to wander down her body, going up the dress and between her legs. Beca moans deep in her throat, tearing her mouth away from the redhead's, her head is thrown back against the door, eyes clamped shut, her whole body shuddering as Chloe's fingers slide in and out of her. She's had sex before, she's even had sex with Chloe before. But nothing, absolutely nothing has come even close to making her feel like this. Like she's being ripped apart into a million little pieces.

"Fuck, Chloe."

"Shhh," she whispers, kissing her again feverishly, stroking her fingers in and out of the girl, her thumb rubbing against her clit. Every single nerve ending in Beca's body comes to life, and it is incredible. "I promised to take your breath away, remember?"

Yes, it is the **only** thing Beca remembers as she feels herself melting under her touch.

It doesn't take long after that, for her to cry out as the waves crash over her. The brunette bites down on her bottom lip so hard it almost draws blood to quiet her screams.

In that moment, for that moment, she was truly and utterly Chloe's.

If it weren't for the redhead's hand on the small of her back, keeping her upright, Beca's sure she would've collapsed onto the bathroom floor by now.

When she looks up at Chloe, eyes full of lust, lips swollen, hair disheveled in the best way possible and breathing heavily like she's just run a marathon, Beca feels herself falling all over again. She is absolutely, completely, utterly beautiful, and she wants nothing more than to make Chloe hers in every way.

"My turn."

* * *

When Beca opens her eyes the next morning, she's greeted with blue eyes staring back at her. A smile dancing on her lips. Oh, and she's very much still naked. She decides, right then and there, that this is the best way to wake up. Ever.

"Bonjour gorgeous," Chloe says like it's the most natural thing in the world, propping her head up on her left arm.

Beca has to duck her head slightly to try and hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. "Morning."

"Last night was..." She trails off, unable to find the word. Beca grins though, she knows. Just thinking back a couple of hours earlier makes her mouth go dry all over again. "I had a cardio plan thingy planned before I came here. Guess I won't be needing that anymore."

Beca's pretty sure her cheeks are redder than Chloe's hair right now.

"You're amazing, you know that?" The taller girl smiles, lying back down on her pillow so they're at the same eye level.

She doesn't say anything, frankly, she doesn't know what to say to that.

Chloe doesn't seem to mind though, as she leans forward and presses a feather soft kiss to her lips. "I want you to be my girlfriend, Beca," she whispers against the brunette's lips. "I can't bear the thought of you touching anyone else like you touch me, you looking at anyone else the way you look at me," She admits, almost inaudibly, when she pulls back. The way she looks at Beca as she says those words makes her feel like all the air's left her lungs. Her heart slamming against her rib cage with every breath she takes.

There's a strange yet not unfamiliar sense of urgency in her chest. It's more than unnerving. "I'm scared."

"I'm not going to hurt you." Chloe inches closer to the other girl, making sure Beca knows that she has never been more sincere in her life.

"What if I hurt you? What if I run again?" Beca questions, and she knows her eyes are betraying her, showing fear behind them.

The redhead sighs. "Then you'd break my heart." She sees the brunette shuts her eyes, taking a breath, preparing for the worst. So she leans forward, places her hand under Beca's chin and nudges her face up so they're looking directly at each other. "But I trust you, more than anything."

The room goes dead silent. Chloe's looking at her like nothing else exists outside of this moment. Right here. Right now.

When their lips meets the next time, it is Beca's way of saying _'I trust you, too'_

* * *

Paris is especially good to them. The city is as vibrant as it is beautiful, and they're safely hidden away from prying eyes of the paparazzi, away from Jesse and her dad pestering her every move. Unfortunately, they don't get to see much outside the walls of their hotel suite, rather spending their days tangled up in each other.

It is a luxury that even the Beale family money cannot buy, even Chloe herself has never had too much of. Time, uninterrupted, without any restrictions.

It is Chloe whispering her favorite French poems into Beca's ear, every syllable sounding like a dream, reciting as if she composed them on the spot, as if they're the only two people in the world who matter.

It is Beca putting her ipod on speaker and turning the volume all the way up because oops, she forgot her headphones at home (and the Beats by Dr Dre Chloe spied in one of Beca's bags is obviously a crap gift from Jesse because there's no way she'd be a sellout and actually use those).

Yes, it is also orgasms as loud as they want and thank God these walls can't talk and hopefully are also soundproof. The French are right about one thing, Chloe chuckles to herself one afternoon when Beca's in the shower, a slight flush creeping up her neck. La petite mort,_ indeed_.

Here, they can be young and stupid, without jobs or rent or responsibilities of the future and worrying fathers.

It is insanely perfect.

"Let's stay here forever." One of them mumbles into the other's skin one morning, and _**oh**_ wouldn't that just be so wonderful.

But then reality calls, in the name of the Beale family empire and Jesse telling Beca about even more studio executives and clubs and big names wanting her time and attention.

They leave Paris with a slight longing and a promise to come back as soon as possible.

At the airport, there are familiar flashes from cameras waiting outside, and Beca knew this was going to happen. They had briefly talked about it once, but she thought she'd have more time to practice her poker face and get those huge sunglasses celebrities wear to avoid photographers or whatever. A feeling of panic creeps up on her like a poisonous venom.

This time, however, she has Chloe by her side, who instantly grabs her hand and runs her thumb across the back of her hand soothingly.

"Beca, listen to me. I want to tell the world you're mine and I'm yours. I know this sounds cheesy and you'll probably whack me in the face but I will gladly shout it out from the rooftops" - she smiles at that - "But if you're not ready or just don't want to, then I will make sure none of those guys even dare look in your direction."

The brunette takes a deep breath. "No, it's fine. I trust you. Besides, when I'm a famous DJ, I'll have the paps following me around, right?" She tries to laugh it off, and Chloe laughs with her. It doesn't make Beca feel much better though.

The redhead reaches into one of her bags and pulls out a pair of sunglasses, handing them to Beca. "Wear these, and you don't have to say anything to them if you don't want to."

She nods, putting the shades over her eyes just as the jet comes to a complete stop.

"Ready?" Chloe asks, taking her hand.

"Ready." Beca nods.

When they get out, it feels like someone just dropped a large beehive on them. They get swarmed. There are so many flashes that she feels like she'd go momentarily blind even with the glasses. There are screams and shouts of questions from all directions, people trying to push their way through to the pair to get a better shot. Beca can vaguely make out some of the questions to be whether or not she's now dating Chloe and what does she think about thoughts that she's only dating Chloe for her money and obvious connections. She wants to smack the guy who asked. No, scratch that, she wants to yell at all of them to fuck off, but is quickly ushered into an awaiting limo by one of the Beale's bodyguards.

Beside her, the redhead is casually talking to the driver like nothing happened.


	10. Chapter 10

**Reviews make me happy. God I wish I had actual writing talent when I have to write chapters like these**

* * *

She takes you out to a club where she worked at once, telling you that it's about time you saw how the rest of the peasant world have fun. She also coyly recounts a vague story of a frisky redhead and blonde she saw one night. You laugh with her and agree to it, realizing you'll gladly go anywhere with her. You're surprised because in your 21 years of existence, nobody's ever not tried to impress you to get your attention, yet somehow, this girl just waltzed into your life captures it so effortlessly.

Your days practically revolve around her now, after Paris. You remember everything about her smile, her laugh, her little quirks and everything she says without trying to. You actually have to hold back from contacting her sometimes so as not to seem like too much of a stalker, and every time your phone lights up with her name on the screen, you grin like a little kid on Christmas eve. She's your girlfriend now. The thought makes you so giddy it's not even funny. You've never had a proper girlfriend before, and it makes everything feel so different yet at the same time...not. People still want your attention, still worship the ground you walk on, heads still turn when you walk past, but now you don't even want to look at anybody else. You just want to see her smile, make her laugh and shower her with little gifts that remind you of her.

Your father would sometimes catch you smiling to yourself like an idiot and although he hasn't said anything yet besides the occasional cocked eyebrow and knowing smirk, you highly suspect that he will, soon. Good, you can't wait to tell him about Beca. You can't wait to tell everybody about Beca.

The first thing she does once you step foot inside the club, which isn't too bad, is down several shots of vodka and drags you to the dark and crowded dance floor, kissing you hard once there, pulling you closer.

You've been official for a couple of weeks, but she knows exactly what your weaknesses are, just how much to get you to grip her hips tighter and kiss her back with fervor, making you forget the mass of bodies surrounding the both of you. When you pull back, there's a mischievous glint in her eyes as she throws her head back and laughs half drunkenly at something, which turns into a soft sigh when your lips kiss down her jaw to her throat, her hands sliding up behind your neck and casually playing with the hairs there. She drives you absolutely crazy. All the time.

You've always enjoyed sex, but with her, it's amazing. You have to marvel at just how well you fit each other, moving together like you've been lovers for years, like you know all her secrets and she knows yours. You make out and grope at each other like a couple of horny teenagers on Prom night, and seriously, you can't stop kissing her. Her lips are more addictive than any drug, any kind of alcohol, and you can't get enough. When you do get back to 'dancing', slightly dizzy and out of breath, you're not paying attention to the music, and neither is she, so you're both moving slightly out of sync with the beat. It's beautiful, seeing her let go completely, and trusting you enough to be there when she does. A few people must be seeing the same thing you are because they begin to dance closer to her, up against her even. You feel a twinge of what people call jealousy for the first time, and your arms slide around her waist possessively leaning down to kiss her neck, making sure to let them know. She is yours and yours alone.

When you suck at that extra sensitive spot just below her ear, she moans your name (which happens to be the sexiest sound ever) and pushes you back against the nearest wall. You don't know what's gotten into her, but you're not about to question a good thing.

Like most nights, it ends with you two stumbling through the door, giggling madly, hastily removing your clothes and getting lost in each other.

When you wake, the other side of the bed is cold. All the drowsiness is gone in an instant, replaced by a sense of panic. You find her in the kitchen soon after, burning some bacon, and the relief is overwhelming. She hasn't left. She hasn't left you.

You notice she's wearing one of your T-shirts and looking so cute in it that you just have to lean forward and give her a kiss that's too short for your liking. She says something about morning breath and not distracting her while she makes breakfast. You almost snort because the food is so obviously burnt, and you have your own private chef on call 24/7, but she's probably right about morning breath so you just pout (adorably, you might add) and leave her to it.

Half an hour later and you finally have some food to eat after Beca has gotten rid of any and all evidence that she's horrible at cooking, snuck out to a nearby cafe and bought a greasy breakfast for the both of you.

"So, I have some news," she begins, and she looks like she's about to burst with glee.

"You're not about to tell me you're pregnant, are you?"

She rolls her eyes, but grins anyway. "Ha ha, but seriously. I had a meeting with this guy from a record label yesterday. The same label as David Guetta. They said they might be able to arrange a collaboration some time."

You're not too surprised. She's talented as hell, and you're involved in the music scene enough to know a star when you see one, but her excitement is incredibly infectious.

"You're like, the only person who knows, aside from Jesse. I couldn't wait to tell you," she says sheepishly and you know that if your grin gets any bigger, your face would break.

You reach across the table, grab her hand and entwine your fingers together, liking how they fit perfectly.

Days later, and you're sitting on your bed, reading French love poems and saving the words in your mind (because your girlfriend loves it when you whisper them into her ear when you're alone. No, seriously, she **loves** it) while Beca's mixing away on her laptop with those big headphones over her ears next to you.

Just when you're enjoying the domesticity of it all, she starts humming 'Titanium' by David Guetta. A couple of seconds into it and she starts singing softly. By now you're just watching her sway her head slightly to the song, fascinated. You've never heard her sing before, but now you know that she _can_ sing, is actually really good at it. When she hits the chorus, you join in as if on instinct, but even you're surprised at how good you sound together. Beca snaps up from her computer screen and stares at you, but she doesn't stop singing, so neither do you. The song fades out soon after and then you're just sitting there smiling at each other.

You've honestly never felt so connected to someone.

That night, you surprise yourselves. You don't end up having sex, instead you stay up and talk about anything and everything, with your arm safely around her waist.

The next time you see your father, you have every intention of telling him about Beca, your girlfriend, but he beats you to it.

"So tell me about this girl then. Does she make you happy?" He asks with a smile, leaning back onto his chair and putting both feet up on the wooden desk.

"Yes, dad," you answer him earnestly. "She makes me so happy."

"You know," he says, leaning forward. "When I met your mother, I fell head over heels in love. I was crazy about her."

You don't know why he's telling you this now. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that when us Beales fall, we fall hard. We give our whole heart away."

You look at him blankly. He's always been a source of wisdom, of knowledge, but he's never been...this vague to you.

"Be careful, okay?"

"It's too late for that, dad. I'm falling in love with her."


	11. Chapter 11

**Every chapter in 2nd person is Chloe's POV. I read somewhere the other day that this site bans 2nd person stories? Talk about living dangerously. Anyway, this chapter, my writing tries to be eloquent and makes your heart ache but failing miserably. Hopefully next chap will be better.**

* * *

Beca Mitchell is 19 years old.

She hates cliches, cheesy movie endings and generic Hallmark cards. Her native language is music and she's fluent in sarcasm.

Her favorite food is Taco Bell (allegedly).

But most of all, she likes to stay grounded. On her feet. She considers herself a realist.

That means she doesn't fall.

Or so she thought, right up until the moment she met Chloe Beale with those ridiculously blue eyes that make her feel like she's drowning in the ocean (or, less poeticly, the blue liquid they use in Maxipad commercials, which would probably be a less pleasant experience).

Being with Chloe is like being blindfolded, told to spin around 10 times and then walk in a straight line.

It's incredible and dizzying and it makes her feel anything but grounded and in control.

It is staring at the phone, willing for it to ring and for 5 simple letters to show up on her screen when it does.

It is this constant need to see her smile (and the overexcited butterflies in her stomach when she does).

It is seeing flashes of red and blue every single fucking time she closes her eyes.

It is silently begging the hands of the clock to turn faster when she's not with Chloe and begging them to turn slower when she is.

It is missing her even after 5 minutes of not seeing her.

It is Chloe creeping into the corners of her mind even when she's mixing, which is something that, up until now, blocked everything else out.

It is completely ridiculous is what it is. Since when did her happiness become so dependent on someone other than herself?

It's these thoughts that Beca would often catch herself having nowadays. Right now, as a matter of fact, when she's at Chloe's door.

But then the door opens and the redhead gives her that smile (the one that Beca knows is reserved just for her, or at least she fucking hopes it is) and pulls her in for one of those kisses (that she fucking **_prays_** is reserved only for her because her heart physically aches in her chest at the thought of Chloe kissing anyone else) and oops the thoughts disappear into the black hole of her brain where shitty pop songs go to die.

Seeing Chloe happy is sunshine and rainbows and puppies and Christmas and a delicious taco when you're starving, all rolled into one. Everything else melts away.

It's like a really weird magic trick.

"I missed you," she says in a half whisper with their mouths an inch apart, cradling Beca's face in her hands.

The brunette rolls her eyes, but her heart flutters at the words. "You saw me like, yesterday." 10 hours and 24 minutes, but who's counting. Beca sure as hell isn't. (But she missed Chloe, too)

"I missed your smile." Kiss. "I missed your laugh." Kiss. "I missed your voice."

God, she is beautiful. She makes Beca want to write cheesy poetry and listen to cliched love songs and make corny mix tapes filled with said songs.

"Come on," Chloe says, reaching down and grabbing her hand, intertwining their fingers, leading her into the spacious guest room of her house. "I want to show you something."

Once inside, the first thing her eyes land on is the grand piano in the center of the room. It's brand new, like something straight out of a concert hall.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Beale, but piano isn't on my list of many talents," she jokes.

"Good, wouldn't want to embarrass myself in front of a master." The redhead grins as she sits down in front of the piano. "I know you love making music for everyone else, but I keep wondering if anyone's ever done it for you." She looks pensive as she adds, "I mean, _just_ for you."

Beca shakes her head as she leans forward on the instrument.

"Good." The ginger smiles as she begins to play. "I like the idea of being the first."

It takes maybe less than two notes in for her to realize that she's fallen for this girl. No, she's plummeted. Beca doesn't know quite how to put it into words or beats or notes, she doesn't know how to be eloquent or speak romantic languages or write sonnets. No song or poem or piece of literature or cheesy line can capture what she's feeling into words anyway. Beca just knows that from this moment on, she cannot be without this girl.

She doesn't know how or why or what compelled her to do it, but halfway into the song, Beca pulls out her phone and types in a text, pressing 'send' before she chickens out. Some things are easier to write out than say, even if there's nobody else around to overhear.

Chloe's phone buzzes with a new text seconds later, and her fingers pause on the keys to reach out and take hold of the device. Beca suddenly feels a rush of nerves as the redhead scans the lines of text on her phone screen, a smile forming on her features. The room now quiet without music to fill the air.

"Is that really how you feel?" Chloe looks up, and there's just something about that smile that knocks the wind out of her. She taps the space next to her on the piano bench, beckoning the brunette to sit down, which she does.

Beca nods. "You don't have to write anything in reply," she says hastily. "I just wanted to tell you, I guess."

"You're amazing," Chloe murmurs quietly as she turns her head and kisses the girl's shoulder gently, followed by words which sound very very close to _'I love you'_, but Beca can't be sure, and she doesn't ask. Her hand just finds the redhead's and tangles their fingers together effortlessly. She would much rather screw out the stars and unhinge the stratosphere than let go.

They stay like that for a while before Chloe breaks the silence. "My dad was talking to me the other day, and you know what he said?"

Beca shakes her head.

"He told me that when I fall, I give my whole heart away," Chloe says, looking down at their joined hands. "I think he's wrong. I think you took my sanity, too. I can't even go an hour without thinking about you." She chuckles.

The brunette doesn't find it amusing, she feels exactly the same way.

"Don't leave me, okay? Not until I say so."

"Well then never say so."

She didn't want to fall in love.

She certainly didn't _ask_ to fall in love.

But maybe she did. Inevitably, unconditionally, unbearably.


End file.
